Alcestis by Euripides

1/ First, some context: my Penguin copy says that Alcestis is “the first surviving play by Euripides, but by this stage he was an experienced dramatist, seventeen years from his first competition.” 

More interestingly: 

“We happen to know, from a summary which precedes the play in our manuscripts, that the Alcestis was produced as the fourth of a tetralogy of plays, occupying the slot normally filled by the single ‘satyr-play’.” 

I read the prose translation by John Davie. 

2/ As I started this blog post, I thought I still struggled with Euripides, compared to Sophocles and Aeschylus. But as it happens, sometimes my mind changes as I write, and organise my thoughts—I’ve realised that Alcestis is an interesting and troubling play. 

The interesting thing about the play is that, as Euripides tackles the myth of Alcestis, he raises questions about what kind of man Admetus is that he’s happy to let his wife die in his place, and reproaches his parents for not offering to die so that he could live. 

“ALCESTIS […] And yet they betrayed you, the parents who gave you life, though they were of a good age to die and to save a son’s life—a glorious end to their days. […] We could then have gone on living, we two, for the rest of our years; you would not be grieving as now, a husband turned widower, a father with motherless children.” 

Alcestis chooses to sacrifice herself, but not without some bitterness.

“ADMETUS […] When it came to the test, you showed your true colours; I no longer regard myself as your son. What man on earth could match your cowardice? Though as old as you are, as close to life’s end, you lacked the will, the courage to die for your son, renouncing this privilege to the woman who lies here, whose blood is not ours!

[…] 

PHERES: […] I brought you into this world and raised you up to be the master of his house; I am under no obligation to die for you.” 

And he’s right. I wouldn’t expect my mum to volunteer to die in my place, why does Admetus expect so from his parents and condemn them when they don’t? 

After Alcestis’s death, he cries, he mourns, he talks about wanting to die himself, but still comes across as an egotist, worrying about “the kind of talk [he will] be subjected to.” Even when he cries about her loss, I don’t believe him:     

“ADMETUS […] The loneliness inside will drive me out, whenever I see our bed with no wife to share it and the chair she used to sit on and, throughout the house, the floor unswept.”  

Is that really Admetus mourning his wife’s death and realising the misery and pointlessness of life in her absence, or is that him regretting his promise to never marry anyone else? 

“ADMETUS […] Outside there will be Thessalian weddings and gatherings full of women to drive me indoors once more. I will not be able to bear the sight of them, my wife’s friends, all as young as her.” 

Heracles, pitying Alcestis and appreciating Admetus’s hospitality despite his grief, brings her back from the dead. In the final scene, he returns to the house with thanks and brings with him a veiled lady, asking Admetus to keep her safe till his return. Admetus says no: 

“ADMETUS […] Where would a young woman live in my house, anyway? She is young, as her clothes and jewellery indicate. Is she to live under the same roof as men, then? How will she keep her virginity if she consorts with young men? It is no easy thing, Heracles, to restrain a young man in his prime. It is your interests I am thinking of here. Or am I to admit her to my dead wife’s chamber and keep her there? How am I to allow her a place in that lady’s bed?”

Above is the translation by John Davie. Here is the same passage in Gilbert Murray’s translation: 

“ADMETUS […] Where in my castle could so young a maid

Be lodged—her veil and raiment show her young:

Here, in the men’s hall? I should fear some wrong.

’Tis not so easy, Prince, to keep controlled

My young men. And thy charge I fain would hold

Sacred.—If not, wouldst have me keep her in

The women’s chambers ... where my dead hath been?

How could I lay this woman where my bride

Once lay?” 

This is disturbing, is it not? Admetus says no multiple times, but the temptation is there—not long after his wife’s death—and then he yields. Fortunately for him, the veiled woman turns out to be Alcestis herself. 

3/ I find that my interpretation of the play is rather different from Kenneth McLeish’s: 

“The scene shows that Admetos has changed because of what has happened—that he has grown in moral stature and self-awareness and he is rewarded, against expectation, when his wife holds out her arms to him.” (A Guide to Greek Theatre and Drama) 

There are probably different ways of performing the play. I myself don’t think Admetus changes—too little time has passed for us to know how well he would keep his word—the play is troubling. 

A few people on Twitter mentioned to me the parallels between Alcestis and The Winter’s Tale. Now I can see for myself: the similarities aren’t enough for me to think that Euripides influenced Shakespeare’s play. One important difference is that in the end, Leontes has been tested, he has been loyal to Hermione and lived in penance for 16 years, and the final scene is not about Hermione’s “resurrection” as it’s about her restoration to him; the restoration of Alcestis from the dead, to me, is a reward to her, not to Admetus.